


Beginnings and Endings

by missema



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Gen, Gifts, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 20:03:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missema/pseuds/missema
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jillyfae prompted - Mahariel/Merrill, Offer me (one character gives another a gift)</p><p>Mahariel receives a gift from Merrill and gives one in return, much later in time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beginnings and Endings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jillyfae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/gifts).



The sun was shining onto the clearing where the Dalish had recently arrived, beyond a dense copse of trees that were old and knew their song from days of beyond living memory. These trees had known them since before they were called "Dalish" and let them pass easily. The trees remembered times preceding the Dales and the sorrow thereafter, and whispered truths in their own way but only Marethari was able to hear it. Merrill liked this area, though they had only been here once before, and it wasn't quite in the same spot. But the wind had the same taste, and the birds made the same songs. Sameness was a comfort not often available to her kind.

It was summer in Ferelden, or what passed for it. The days were longer, but they lived deep within the hearts of trees, where warmth never quite got to hot. It was only later, when she'd experienced the unforgiving heat of a city, heat trapped in dirty walls and walkways with no shade, baking stone under an unblinking eye, that she felt the summer. But those days were in the future for her, a dirge yet to be sung.

Her clan was happiest at times like this, when their wandering was temporarily done, and the hunters could fan out and net new prey. Each new camp was a new start, unknown but not unfamiliar at all. It was their way. She liked the way it infused their collective spirit, making them overall happier and lively as they set up. They wandered, but were never lost.

She enjoyed the melodious sounds of chatter and life as she unpacked her things next to Marethari's belongings. There was setting up to do, and she had her things as well as the Keepers to tend to. The Keeper was off checking on Amari, who was with child but not very far along. Merrill took out the ring, and inspected it briefly before putting it in a pocket. She planned on giving it to Mahariel after they ate that night.

It is a small, sylvanwood piece, the design hearkening back to days when her people knew the secrets of metal too, how to sing to it, and to make it bend as they did the ironbark. The design was meant to be folded with heated metal turned liquid and not carved, but Merrill did her best to recapture the essence of it. Merrill thinks, because it is only logical to think so, that they learned it from the durgen-len. Perhaps by a dwarf that came to the surface and taught the Dalish, because it has the feeling of something learned elsewhere and passed on, the beauty of knowledge shared.

Whatever the case was, it was an intricate, pretty design that time had lost the origin of, but not the meaning. The ring itself is new, something that Merrill made under the watchful eye of Master Ilen, because as First, it is her place to do so. But the custom and carvings are part of Mahariel's legacy, a promise made by Marethari.

There is so much Mahariel doesn't yet know, and Merrill will be Keeper one day, and it will be her job to tell Mahariel all of the truth, in tiny bits so as not to overwhelm. She's so young now, a few years younger than Merrill, but far stronger. Mahariel is fierce of spirit and strength, with a loud laugh that belies her roguish training. They aren't close, but Merrill does like her so - but Mahariel is kind to her in a distant way, the way she is also kind to the elders and children. They cannot be true friends, because Merrill understands that such luxuries aren't meant for Keepers.

She gives the ring to Mahariel, for her to gift to Tamlen. It's almost their time, and the whole of the clan is caught up in their fledgling romance, waiting to see what blossomed. As Merrill, she knows that they've already been together - that when they hunt it isn't just prey they are after. As First to the Keeper, she imparts the wisdom of the ritual, the knowledge of tradition to them, so that things may be done correctly.

She watched Mahariel as she tries to spend more time with him, rearranging her lessons, trading hunts with others. Her heart is visible to all, and though the elders see through her maneuvering, they let it happen as it is meant to be. Merrill sees what she isn't supposed to see - the gifted hunter hesitating, playing with the ring, unsure. She is, after all, just past her gift of adulthood, the vallaslin on her skin is brand new, and love is scary and unexplored.

Tamlen shouts for Mahariel, and she stows the ring into a tiny pouch before answering his call. Radiance beams from her face when he greets her, a smile meant for only him, startling in its loveliness. They go off together to hunt, and Merrill watches Mahariel as she walks too close to Tamlen, bumping into him one too many times. He catches her before she can bump away again, slinging an arm around her with a smile. The pair of them disappear easily into the trees, bows strapped to their backs.

Tamlen never comes back.

#####

Eight Years Later

The air of Kirkwall tastes like blood and soot, and Merrill can't help but breathe it in. With each breath, she fills her body with a foulness that cannot be avoided. It's like the essence of corruption has come to rise above the city after festering below it for so long. It chokes and makes her sputter, a dry, hardness that she cannot get used to. Even as they ride to the Gallows across the water, moving away from the explosion, she can taste it in every moment.

No one should live in Kirkwall after this. The mark here will be too strong.

But she knows that they will continue to, because they will fight if someone tells them otherwise. The first fight is now, where they are silently heading towards, to Orsino, to Meredith, to the end.

Carver is here again, standing nearby. She is glad - she always liked Carver, found him and his sword to be reassuringly loyal, a welcome presence at her back. Carver is a Grey Warden, and she very much wants to ask him questions, but no one is talking. It makes it feel even more ominous, the ash falling like black snow from the sky, the cries in the background but the utter and complete silence of their group as they ride towards a war with no end.

No one really talks until they are going to fight, until it is time to say goodbye in the Gallows. They are all standing together, looking to Hawke, who is going to lead them into one last battle. Hawke and Carver hug, and Merrill kisses Hawke for what may be the last time, because she doesn't know if she is going to make it to the finale of this act.

Merrill looks over at Carver as Hawke moves on to talk to the others, admiring how different he is now. The is much that is the same about him, his grim determination, the way he holds his shoulders, but he is changed. There is a quietness about him that wasn't there before, a confidence that surrounds him so that he doesn't seem nervous as she is, but sure and steady. His eyes have seen far more than he ever thought he would, but don't have the same haunted, aged look that Anders always had, even back when they first met. She sees Carver, as the man he's become. Whatever life brings him, he handles it, and it is a comfort to know that he can after all the years of being unsure in Hawke's shadow. He looks especially handsome in the blue of his Warden uniform.

Just as she thinks that, she looks up to the braided leather around his neck and the small circle that hangs on it. The circle isn't a pendant, but a ring, too small for his fingers but kept close to his heart. Were the sun able to pierce through to Kirkwall, the smooth, polished wood might have caught the light, but the vast black cloud of the Chantry covers everything. Merrill squints and moves closer, reaching out to touch before she can stop her hands.

 _I made that._ She wants to speak, but the words are stuck in her throat, constricted with tears and too many emotions. It belongs to my clan.

But Carver is part of her clan now, part of the new one she made for herself. Just as Mahariel had to find a different family, so did she. How she mourned for both Mahariel and Tamlen before, lamenting their loss. Days were lost in grief, wondering why the Creators would take so much from their torn and ragged clan and leave them with nothing to replace them, just a blank glass filled with corruption. Could anything ever fill the void? All she had was that mirror and more questions, and all the demons that dogged her afterwards.

He is like a bridge between her and Mahariel, something she'd longed for some much that it kept her up nights, and she'd penned note after note, asking Varric to send them off to the Grey Wardens for her. She simply touches the ring on the chain, breathing in deeply. The markings are all there, the design just as she made it so many years ago. She'd never thought she'd see it again, much less on a leather strap around Carver's neck.

Carver doesn't stop her. They are silent together, her reaching up and he watching her. In the background she can hear Varric laugh, though it is low and sad, not like his usual chuckle.

A hand claps over hers, and Merrill follows the arm upward to Carver's face. She didn't know why she was expecting someone different. "Do you know it?"

"Of course. Always."

"Good. She wasn't sure if you would remember. She said 'Tell her things are as they are supposed to be.'"

Merrill peers at Carver, inspecting his face. He was here of his own reasons, to mend his relationship with Hawke, to tell her of Mahariel. He would always a Warden, she could feel it tingling in his blood, quickening his end but granting incredible life. A life with Mahariel, as her mate. They were bonded.

"Thank you, lethallin. It's nice to hear from her again, after all this time." Merrill says, but it is an understatement. It is a vast and all-encompassing relief, like the kiss of rain after a drought, or the sight of land after a storm at sea.

Carver unable to read her, worried that he'd caused distress. "Are you alright?" He asked, forehead furrowed above eyes dark with concern.

"Things are as they are supposed to be now." Merrill repeated, believing it for the first time since she'd encountered the Eluvian. Perhaps she would be as lucky as Mahariel, if she just kept on.


End file.
